The Pale Moon
by Clio S.S
Summary: Sometimes, Grimmjow reaches the conclusion he is the only sane being in Hueco Mundo, which itself is kind of grotesque...


Whoever had made up the poetic name _The Pale Moon_ remained less important in the face of who had opened in Las Noches the first and, so far, the only pub of Hueco Mundo. To their deeply concealed shame, sometimes the memories of the Arrancar happened to be fogged and vaguely unclear, and Espada wasn't any exception in that matter. One day, the pub had simply appeared in the Third Tower and stayed there, soon becoming the place that scarce population of the palace visited eagerly - as if it was there right from the beginning. Taking everything into consideration, its existence was unquestionable: no-one could imagine a decent hotbed of evil without a haunt, where the followers of the Dark Side could keep up appearances of their positive mutual relations and spend their hard-earned money. You couldn't possibly think, my Dear Reader, that the Espada did Aizen's dirty work for free? Las Noches hadn't arisen from nothing, either. If there was a rain in Hueco Mundo, during rainy days Grimmjow's back would remember every stone placed in the walls of Las Noches.

Or perhaps not?

Grimmjow, not the first time, noticed he was kept occurring rather strange thoughts to when drinking. Szayel's doing, no mistake. Anyway, he had enough dough to buy any city in the Real World, except for Karakura, that Aizen had his own plans towards - which had been announced to him out of nothing by Granz, who hadn't said, however, that Grimmjow would have some problems with exchanging the _huecomundian_ currency. All of that was of absolutely no importance since Grimmjow didn't feel like buying Karakura or any other human settlement. He wasn't interested either in the Real World or humans in the slightest. Nevertheless, so far he hadn't found anything to spend his fortune on, which made him feel like on pension fund. The fact frustrated him to no end since he was a young and supple...

Now, what he was served today?

With disgust, Grimmjow looked at the liquid in his glass, then stretched it in the direction of one of the Ocatava's Fracción, serving as a barman.

"Dilute it with milk!"

Every time, Grimmjow kept wondering why he was coming here in the first place. The reason was prosaic: the boredom. One gigantic nasty everlasting boredom. There was completely nothing to do in Las Noches - as well as the whole Hueco Mundo - since Aizen had forbade Espada to fight one another. Grimmjow hoped that perhaps booze would deaden the imposed and already deeply ingrained obedience to Aizen's orders, but no, why? He suspected Szayel Aporro, a master in sucking up to the boss, of his own free will, modified the beverages in order to dull the Arrancar's aggressive instincts. After entering _The Pale Moon_, one would think he got to the funeral banquet, not the party-house. Finally, Grimmjow had reached an unattractive conclusion that even being Granz's guinea pig brought a bit of refreshment in the bleak, eternal existence of the Espada, so he didn't stop absorb the absurd quantity of liquid that came from the laboratory apparatus of the head scientifist of Hueco Mundo. However, it didn't make the spirits any higher.

Grimmjow sipped at his diluted drink and looked around, his gaze disillusioned. On the left he had two regulars of _The Pale Moon_. Starrk was laying on the bar, his sake intact. Grimmjow rolled his eyes. Next to Primera, playing his younger and shorter twin, lay Ulquiorra, who didn't need much more to reach the state of blissful ignorance. At least, blissful it was for Grimmjow, who shivered, recollecting the previous sessions, when Ulquiorra had used to weep out on his shoulder about how he "would never find a woman", and so on. "Women suck," Grimmjow had used to snort in reply, considering his own experience with Harribel's Fracci n - or, rather, lack of the concrete and desired experience. Recently, however, Bat used to go all the way, dropped after one drink, then slept till morning, whatever morning was in Hueco Mundo. Grimmjow was sure he liked this option more, but sometimes he wondered if the change had resulted from the drinks themselves or was there some more essential reasons for it.

He turned his head right and immediately wished he hadn't. By the table in the corner - dark, but not enough - sat Nnoitra and Tesla, and at least they engaged in the activities you'd expect from the party-house. Not that Grimmjow envied them, Arrancar guardian spirits helped him! Sometimes, however, he cursed his absolute sight, whose notice no detail could escape. He had just, completely involuntarily, witnessed what Nnoitra could do with his long tongue and what made Tesla giggle uncontrollably. Well, it was nothing new that alcohol and the like loosened the tongues. It was a nice change in Fifth Espada's relation with his Fracción - nice for Tesla, at least, for Grimmjow regretted his knowledge of said relation didn't remain in the realm of speculations any more, especially after another demonstration of Nnoitra's skills. ...No. It was evil, very evil. More evil than Aizen's machinations and plans of total conquest. Compared to those two, Grimmjow himself sometimes felt innocent as a kitty playing with the ball, which was grotesque itself. Grimmjow blinked and pulled at his glass. The vision flickered and got blurred. Perhaps that drink wasn't that bad after all, he decided.

Harribel's Fracción sat one table away, sipping their drinks lazily and looking down at the rest. Grimmjow remembered the previous day Avirama, Ggio and Nirgge had tried to invite themselves into the company. After an encounter with Apache's cero, Avirama resembled a condor, Nirgge had been slapped by Mila-Rose and looked like an elephant with runny nose, and Ggio raged for the whole evening (although, in his case one could rather speak about groaning and moaning) due to his sticky fur after Sun Sun had spilled the content of her glass on him. Grimmjow heard the dumped ones try to talk the rest of Fracción into taking the revenge for the humiliation they had experienced, but they met rather bitter disappointment - Charlotte said he wasn't interested, Poww, at this phase of conversation, didn't grasp yet what it was about, while Findor, out of the blue, announced he felt like dancing. He killed everything with that remark and was looked like an alien at. Surprisingly, at least Mila-Rose looked at their table in a more friendly way, while Apache and Sun Sun started to murmur to each other. Grimmjow heard Ggio started to make the plans of building the ballroom - and he drank his drink up, cursing his absolute hearing. After a while, he realized he was sadly mistaken thinking it couldn't possibly be worse when his own Fracción joined the conversation. It was D-Roy who suggested they should make a band and play during the disco.

He was surrounded by the idiots, and none amount of alcohol could change it.

Barragan sat by the next table and regarded the rest with the gaze of a ruler, drinking one glass of mead after another. His Fracción, regardless of their own enjoyment, didn't forget their "king" and waited on him as eagerly as always. Consuming the great amounts of liquid, Yammy sat a bit farther, being in a good mood, typical of him. He just started to sing some coarse song, which drew Barragan's Fracción from their discussion about livening up Las Noches and turning it into the centre of culture and entertainment, on the model of the greatest metropolises of the Real World. Ggio, Findor and Avirama quickly took the song up and - what was to be expected - turned it into laudation of Barragan. The picture of fall was completed by D-Roy, who decided to enrich this cacophony with his comb play.

Harribel was absent as she visited the Pale Moon very rarely. Szayel Aporro preferred his own place of enjoyment - the laboratory, where he took pleasure in creating the beverages. Aaroniero was unable to drink, and Zommari had condemned the idea of local, as well as the drinks it served, at the very beginning. Well, no-one missed him anyway.

Grimmjow decided he had enough. Yet another wasted evening... He had never thought highly of Aizen, but recently used to catch himself thinking he completely hated that Shinigami for having meddled in Hollows' simple, yet full of peculiar dynamism, existence and "improving" them at his own discretion. Grimmjow had nothing against his improved form - he was great and invincible - but being dependent on Aizen and his primitive ambitions put him in a very foul mood. Sometimes, when really desperate, he came to think he would do anything - anything! - to kill the boredom and provide the stimuli for his brain, although he hadn't specified these activities yet. If someone benevolent let him go fighting, beating, destroying and dominating, Grimmjow would give that person his fortune without a word. Instead, he was spending his time in the joint, incapable even of getting drunk. It was high time to go make up for that pitiful session.

He rose from his chair and made his way to the exit. In the doorway, he turned once more and - with a kind of envy - regarded the brothers in drinking, wrestling with his thoughts. Starrk would be fetched in the morning by Lilynette, who wasn't allowed to the pub due to her age, which enraged her extremely. Grimmjow sighed and pulled Ulquiorra from the bar. After all, they inhabited the same wing of Las Noches, so he could be nice for Bat this one time. Besides, there was always a chance (a smaller than D-Roy's brain, though) that Ulquiorra would wake up on the way and feel like fighting. Grimmjow looked at Bat, hanging down from his arm - he was to be stronger? What a pity the rank in the Espada weren't given according to the head for drinking...

With Ulquiorra under his arm, Grimmjow walked to the southern part of the palace. The floor was swaying under his feet, which was some kind of variety in the situation. Bat didn't stir, might have as well hibernated. Grimmjow promised himself it was definitely the last time he showed that kind of neighbourly help, especially that he would never live to being returned the favour in any way.

After long, boring and swaying walk, they reached Ulquiorra's quarters. He'd be damned if he intended to lull Bat to sleep. He threw his load onto the bed unceremoniously (once again wondering if Ulquiorra shouldn't sleep upside down on the tie-beam instead) and turned to leave - but he didn't manage. Out of the sudden, Ulquiorra's arm shot up in the air, grasped Grimmjow by his sleeve and pulled down onto the bed. Grimmjow only after a while realized the seriousness of the situation, but he didn't dare to move when Ulquiorra hauled himself of the top of his chest and looked him deep into eyes, his gaze rather vacant.

_It isn't happening,_ Grimmjow thought, ascertaining that from that distance and after such amount of alcohol Ulquiorra was really... really... gross.

With a look of a captured mouse, Grimmjow looked into Ulquiorra's big eyes, in his mind promising to take back all the words about ranking in Espada if he get out of this intact.

"We have to... s-ss-separate them," Ulquiorra wheezed.

Grimmjow blinked.

"Liss-ssen..."

Grimmjow listened.

"She only hassss eyesss... for him..." Ulquiorra stated in rather cheerless voice, while Grimmjow couldn't be unimpressed by the fact Bat had managed to pull a sentence together, and so sublime in addition. He didn't know what was the matter about, but he started to feel relieved it wasn't apparently him.

"Ino... Ino... Hime," Ulquiorra faltered as his previous eloquence vaporized. "Woman," he stated finally, proud of himself.

Grimmjow didn't feel up to analysing the fact, although he could undoubtedly congratulate Bat on finding the desired woman. Or feel sorry for him, for the affair didn't seem to go well.

"Woman," Ulquiorra repeated with satisfaction, and Grimmjow refrained from pointing out that it wasn't that difficult word.

"And him?" he dared to ask and immediately wished he hadn't as Ulquiorra's hands squeezed his throat.

"Get rid offf... Kill... Fixsssss... Disssposss offf..."

Grimmjow gulped. "Anything else?" he asked casually, with no intention to involve himself into the problems of Bat.

Ulquiorra nodded, looking contended. "She isss... she isss..." he stuttered, happiness all over his face. "Woman," he added as if he wished to emphasize something Grimmjow didn't want to agree with.

Grimmjow sighed. "And him?" he asked again, cautiously moving from the range of Bat's hands, who, fortunately, started to drift off to sleep again.

"You'll... ssssee... yourssselfff..."

_I don't want to see him at all!_ Grimmjow wanted to shout.

The corners of Ulquiorra's lips lifted slightly, and it was not the first time Grimmjow had the disquieting impression Bat could read his mind. "You'll... like him..." Ulquiorra whispered quietly. "That Kurosssaki Ichi...go... He's... ssstrong..." And then he was already sleeping like a log.

_Damn you, Ulquiorra!_ Grimmjow thought, getting out on the firm ground, but what happened couldn't be undone. "And sweet dreems," he said aloud, grinning and making the vile plans already.

Sometimes you could bend the rules of Espada, couldn't you? The young ones should obey the seniors, and low-ranked should follow the orders of top - or something like that. For the first time in a very long, Grimmjow felt the thrill that once had used to accompany him before every fight. He felt like hugging Bat right there, but he left him alone after all. In _The Pale Moon_ the fun presumably continued - perhaps Findor still felt like dancing? Grimmjow's grin widened at the feeling his energy could possibly fill Las Noches to the very dome.

You just wait, Kurosaki Ichigo.

And don't dare to prove weak.


End file.
